“Gallant knight with his fair lady,” sneered Hankinshaw.
“What’s that?” exclaimed Tom, taking a step toward him.
Before the blaze in the young inventor’s eyes, Hankinshaw stepped back hastily. As he did so, his foot struck a box on the floor and he fell backward and went through the confectioner’s window. There was a crash of splintering glass, and the next instant Hankinshaw was on the sidewalk, surrounded by a litter of glass and a score or more of candy boxes that had been flung out with him.
“Oh, I do hope he isn’t hurt!” cried Mary, in a fright.
“I guess not,” replied Tom, as they hurried outside. “You go along, Mary, before a crowd gathers. I’ll stay behind to help him if necessary.”
The confectioner had rushed outside with them, in alarm both for his window and the man who had gone through it. Mary hastened on, while Tom and the store owner, a Mr. Wilkins, helped Hankinshaw to his feet.
To their relief, they saw that apart from a few scratches on one of his hands and the damage to his dignity, no harm had come to the bulky fellow. But his eyes were baleful as he glared at Tom. If hate could have killed, Tom would have been a dead man.
“I’ll fix you for this, Swift!” he declared venomously.
“You brought it on yourself,” replied Tom. “I’m glad though that you weren’t seriously injured. You’d better get back to your hotel before a crowd gathers. It wouldn’t be pleasant for you to explain just how you happened to go through the window. Don’t worry about the glass, Wilkins,” he continued, turning to the confectioner. “If he doesn’t pay for it, I will. And mind, Wilkins, not a word as to the young lady who was in the store at the time this happened.”
“You can count on me, Mr. Swift,” replied the storekeeper, reassured by what Tom had said about the broken window. “Nobody’ll get anything out of me.”